Untouched Soul
by OtterAndTerrier
Summary: “So let us discuss your options, Draco.” Your options... His options... What options? - A one-shot about Draco Malfoy on top of the Astronomy Tower


This is my very first story about Draco Malfoy, really, because I'm not a fan of him (I mean, he could have changed after 19 years and everything, but even so, as Ron said: "Poisonous toadstools never change", and Draco was horrible to the trio and to everybody, so... well, that's all). But **nevillesgirl**, from Veritaserum Forums, suggested in a thread "a story about how he met his wife" or "a one-shot diving into his brain as he stared down Dumbledore in the Astronomy Tower". After pondering it well, I thought 'why not?' and came up with this. This is more about the second idea, but it also has a hint, in the end, about the first option.

I hope Draco lovers will be pleased with it, I did my best in trying to understand him as well as possible in those difficult moments in the Astronomy Tower. Please, leave some reviews if you feel like and tell me how did you like this!

Thanks to Amanda (**nevillesgirl**) for the idea, and thanks a lot to Alyssa (**hot-for-harry**) for being a great beta, again

Enjoy!  
Dessi.-

**Untouched Soul**

The sun hit him full on the face, making his pale cheeks turn pink yet again in a relatively short time, and Draco's mind clearly saw the great skull replacing the yellow star and the warm light bathing his being with a greenish shade. He lowered his eyes and, horrified, saw his long deceased Headmaster, slightly staggering at the sight of him, but even in that moment, wearing his kind smile, his stupid smile with which he thought he could solve anything.

"Good evening, Draco," he said, and a horrible cold spread through his chest: Dumbledore was already dead, that voice couldn't belong to the living. But as suddenly as it appeared, the cold was gone. Draco wanted to slap himself: he wasn't dead, it was _his_ duty to do it, for once and forever.

Dumbledore kept talking to him, as calm as it could be anyone offering him to sit and have a goblet of Firewhiskey, creating an obvious diversion for him, but he clasped it as if for dear life, aware that every path had an end, and his was close, and he dreaded it.

He felt his own voice ringing out in his ears, a sick tone of pride and fear that was beginning to dizzy him. An old memory of a younger self, as strange as someone dead long ago now, proudly announcing how he had kicked the house-elf downstairs, with the only purpose of claiming his father's attention, was vaguely drawn by an invisible hand in the diffuse fog of the night.

"Draco, Draco, you are not a killer."

Blood seemed to boil in his brain, and he felt a hard beat on his temple as he answered, in a rush of madness and panic: "How do you know?"

What was more stupid, after all, his determination of finishing off the greatest wizard ever, or the attempt of bravery that showed that old man, shrunk against the rampart wall? He was about to kill Albus Dumbledore, he had been offered the chance to clean the Malfoys' name, to liberate his family, even maybe to become the Dark Lord's right hand, if everything went good, and at this rate, what could go wrong?

"So let us discuss your options, Draco."

Your options... His options... What options? The Headmaster's words floated in the air for a moment, before crashing into his head with deliberate cruelty. What did he mean? Options, options for someone doomed... That was the truth, he was doomed. What did he care, after all, how many died, how many did he have to kill, who killed who, if he was sure that his family was going to be safe? What did he care to join the greatest Dark wizard, now he had seen a small part of what he was capable to do, to make people do for him, while he was there, menacing to destroy his family?

"I haven't got any options!"

And then a mad thought took over him, his only option: that Dumbledore fell dead on his own accord. Why doesn't he die, he is barely standing on his feet? But instead of falling in front of him, as he was supposed to have done ages ago by now, his mouth kept moving, offering a help that he wasn't able to contemplate, and that Dumbledore wasn't able to actually give him, for everything was now beyond any mortal's compassion.

And after all... after all, he was there, he had beat Severus Snape, he had beat even his aunt, no Death Eater had never gone that far...

"I'm the one with the wand… you're at my mercy…"

"No, Draco," said Dumbledore quietly. "It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now."

Everything inside him disappeared, and it came to him the ridiculous thought of that he was the ghost now, he was the one who was already dead... Now, he didn't have any options...

Draco looked up, at last, facing the girl sitting on the bench beside him, holding his hand, something glinting in his grey eyes.

"You ask me what was I thinking in that moment, Astoria... And the only thing I can say to you now is something I know now: that... _killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe_."


End file.
